Track Record
by akikos-wok
Summary: Several “offscreen” events during Kapitel detailing the complicated evolution of Aya and Ken’s relationship. Warnings: shonenai AxK, angst, need for a relative familiarity with Kapitel episodes, and a little fluffiness.
1. Chapter 1

**Track Record**

By: akikos-wok

DISCLAIMER:

Weiss and all of its delicious characters are more or less copyright of Takehito Koyasu. They certainly do not belong to me.

DEDICATION: 

This story is dedicated to G-girl Venus who let me borrow all of her Weiss DVDs which is really what made me write this story. Oooo, just watching that show makes me NEED to elaborate on the characters' inner angst! (oh and of course their obvious romtantic relationships with one another) So arigato Minako, even if I STILL didn't get to see the last episode. (note: I have since finally seen it, though it took a WHILE)

NOTE:

Some chapters are REALLY short. It was just easiest to break up past and present by putting them in separate chapters.

* * *

No one saw him falling. In the morning's maiden hours, long before the thought of sunrise even crossed her mind, he slipped, staggered and skidded down the stairs, thanks to a combined effort of stocking feet, insufficient lighting, and exhaustion. He was more shocked by the sensation than physically harmed by tumbling against hard wood steps. A little bruise or two was hardly worth noticing, especially since he was already in pain. When he recovered from the shock he rose, with not a little difficulty, to his feet and bracing himself against the wall continued on his way to the kitchen.

He could've done it in the bathroom, but the bathrooms were upstairs where all the bedrooms were and he didn't want to wake anyone. No one needed to know and he didn't want anyone to know. If they knew they'd all get in a panic and try to send him off to a hospital, or at least try to take care of it, when he was perfectly capable of doing so himself. After all, it was just a little cut. Okay, maybe it was a big, rather big, gash that angled from his right shoulder to his left hip. And then there were his knuckles . . .

Regardless, he could take care of all his injuries himself. He didn't need any help, so he didn't ask for any. If he asked, people would know. And if people knew then they would have wondered how he managed to get the wounds, wondered when he let his guard down. Wondered how he screwed up this time.

He had tried to tell himself that this time it was okay, this time his mistakes were forgivable, because he had been back with Weiss for only a few days after nearly two months hiatus. This time the others could forgive him his faults, but he knew this was not true. None of them had killed one target and then sat brooding over the corpse just long enough for another to sneak up on him, from the front nonetheless, and slice open his chest with a bowie knife.

Well, not exactly slice his chest open, as that would imply uncontrollable torrents of gushing blood and a fatal wound, but the malefactor did manage to cleave a hefty cut. It could have been worse, but the young assassin did have the sense to fight back and not just lie there and let his attacker dissect him. So he struggled, twisted and turned until he was almost standing when the knife connected, making short work of his tee shirt, but just breaking the surface of his skin. He stumbled back, upper body crumpling around the wound, but managed to stay on his feet. Then he lunged forward, driving his armed fist into his attacker's stomach, but the blow was too forceful, too wild and uncalculated, and his right knuckle hammered against the hard-leather bracer of his bugnucks. He then promptly swung his free hand and slit the man's throat.

He'd closed his jacket up to hide his wound from the others. No one had completed the mission unscathed, so the smell of blood didn't tip them off. When they got back to the flower shop he'd immediately run up to his bedroom. There he'd laid down and waited several hours, letting the fabric lining of his leather jacket absorb the steadily seeping blood, until he was quite certain that his companions were asleep.

So now he stood in the kitchen, relying heavily upon the counter, staring at the stainless steal sink, barely a yard away. He knew he needed to turn on the water, needed to wash the gash in his chest. He also knew he needed to bandage it and stop the bleeding. He didn't have any bandages with him, but he figured he could just rip up his tee-shirt, since it was already destroyed, and use that. Even though there were plenty of bandages in the house. But they were all up in the bathroom, and he was not risking another fall on the stairs. He'd been lucky no one woke up before.

The trouble was that despite _knowing_ what he needed to do, he just couldn't quite bring himself to do it. His senses felt numb, his thoughts delayed, and it seemed to him that despite being in excellent form, he has no control over the muscles in his body.

_Damn. I guess maybe I'm a little worse off than I thought_.

But he wasn't about to give up. Oh no, not when he'd come this far. He'd make that tumble down the stairs worth it. He was going to prove himself right. He'd told himself he could take care of himself, and dammit he was going to. And he was going to do a damn good job of it too. No one was ever going to know that anything happened.

He gripped tightly to the edge of the counter, dragged his feet along the kitchen tiles, and turned on the sink.


	2. Chapter 2

It was such a nuisance.

Of course he wanted to complete the mission, wanted to get the money from it, wanted to pay his sister's hospital bills. And this mission paid well, so he wasn't about to say no. But he didn't want to go out to little a cabin in the mountains and baby-sit for a naive student computer programmer. It was just so _obvious_ that that blue-haired, so-called university student was a sham. So obvious that he was the one who needed to be killed. But thanks to the presence of aforementioned computer programmer, student impersonator couldn't just be killed on the spot. No no. It had to be done covertly or else Michiru would find out about Weiss. And then she'd have to die along with the criminal.

So now they had to make an excuse, had to get out of the house, wait for the guy—what was his name?—to try to kill her and then kill him and any other thugs who might be lurking around, by leaping out of the shadows themselves.

And presently he was driving off into the woods, with Ken nonetheless, with no purpose other than to hide the car there. And Ken was driving. He'd be lucky if he managed to get back to the Villa White without crashing into a tree.

"You're driving too fast," he stated, simply, nonchalantly.

"What do you mean I'm driving too fast?" the brown haired boy beside him demanded.

"I mean that you are putting too much pressure on the accelerator and the vehicle is moving too quickly to be safe."

"You're one to talk Aya," Ken retorted sharply. "You're the one who got two speeding tickets last month cruisin' around in that porsche of yours."

"Yes, but in both cases I was on main roads with nothing impairing my vision and no hazards," Aya returned. "And I only got one ticket. The other was just a warning."

"Tch! Okay, whatever. I've still never gotten a speeding ticket in my life, thank you very much."

"You on the other hand are driving a vehicle not well suited for all terrain driving, through a coniferous forest, over partially frozen snow, while trying to avoid and see around snow covered pine and fir trees," the redheaded assassin continued, ignoring his companion, though he was vaguely aware that the other boy had spoken.

Ken slammed on the breaks, bringing the car to a screeching halt, mere inches from the trunk of an ancient, towering, pine.

"And therefore, you are driving too fast," Aya said, smirking slightly, quite pleased with his analysis. He glanced over at Ken who's cheeks were scarlet, though whether from anger or embarrassment Aya could not tell.

_It's for his own good. If I hadn't said anything he wouldn't have been thinking about it and right now we'd be wrapped around that tree_.

An awkward silence followed. Aya was certainly not opposed to a good deal of silence and on a daily basis, but this silence was not a comfortable, I can concentrate on whatever I am currently occupying myself with silence. This silence was intense, heavy, yet fragile, bound to break at any second. But if it would shatter piercingly with Ken protesting the veracity of Aya's diagnosis of his driving skills or merely splinter away with Ken successively opening and closing the car door, then wandering dejectedly back in the general direction of the cabin, remained a mystery.

_Why doesn't he say something? He should realize that he made a mistake, accept it, and learn from it_.

However, while Aya felt quite certain that it was Ken's responsibility to break this silence, he wasn't sure what he wanted him to say. He just knew he wanted him to talk, to say anything.

"Well?" Aya said finally, unable to further tolerate the growing tension.

"Well what?" Ken replied, but placidly. And this annoyed Aya, because usually the tan-skinned, brown-eyed youth was irritable and belligerent when dealing with him. Not that Aya enjoyed being screamed at, but the screaming and occasional jabs narrowly missing his jaw were oral and physical proof that Ken listened to what he said. Listened, considered, and understood.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Aya half demanded, glaring fervently at his inept driver. The boy's head was held straight, but his eyes were downcast, his lips drawn into a dispassionate line.

"What do you want me to say?" Ken's head turned slightly in Aya's direction.

"Well-" Aya began, but was forced to pause as he abruptly recalled the fact that he did not have an answer to this question.

"That you're right? That I was driving too fast, that if you hadn't made me aware of that fact, we'd have crashed into the tree, that I've learned my lesson and I promise never to do it again, and thank God for you because surely if you weren't here to constantly remind me that I'm a fucking idiot I would be lying dead in ditch somewhere by now?" Ken implored, his tone scaling rapidly.

"That'll do." _So he was listening after all_ Aya mused.

"What do you mean 'that'll do'? That's enough, that's what you want to hear, that's not quite what you want, but it works? By all means, tell me exactly what you want, so that I can grovel at your feet and oblige!"

"Ken, you're being ridiculous. Get you're temper under control and call Omi so we can get on with the mission," Aya commanded. _Honestly, doesn't he know that I just wanted to make sure he heard me? All the things I tell him are for his own sake and I just like to know that they penetrate his thick skull_.

Without warning, Ken drew his arm back and thrust his fist frantically at his companion. Quick reflexes and habit prompted Aya to veer sideways, narrowly dodging the punch. But Ken had attacked with such vigor that his entire body was thrown forward, and though he had missed with his hand, his forehead collided with that of his intended target. Aya's back crashed audibly against the car door as his attacker's body crumpled awkwardly against him.

A need to recover from shock left them momentarily paralyzed, faces mere inches apart, noses practically touching. Aya could feel Ken's breath hot and tremulous on his face, could see the round brown eyes, mirrored in his own, widen as awareness returned, then flood with something like humiliation. Yet still the moment lingered, as blood rushed to Ken's boyish face, and Aya suddenly felt compelled to raise a fairly impeded arm to touch a blushing cheek.

"A-Aya . . ." Ken began uncertainly, his voice a breathless whisper. But it was enough to revive reality and dispel the remote gentleness in Aya's violet eyes.

"Get off me," Aya snarled, lowering his wandering hand to Ken's shoulder and pushing. The shorter boy toppled back into the driver's seat, shoulders slumping forward, and chin dropping to chest.

There was silence again, another agitated silence. Aya sat upright, glowering at Ken. _What was that? _he thought, irritated. _Why the hell did I feel the need to touch him like that?_

It had felt good, right somehow. He couldn't explain it. But Ken's cheek had felt so warm, so real, the contact so pacifying, so natural. However the point was that his muscles had acted independently of his reason and that was completely unheard of. He was in total control of every aspect of his self and somehow Ken had altered that fact. Ken with his unruly hair, saucy eyes, infant coordination, ungovernable temper, and hopeless impetuosity; it was unacceptable.

Aya's eyes narrowed and his hand clenched. _What is wrong with me?_

"I- I'm sorry," Ken stammered, hand fumbling in his coat pocket. He stopped and produced a grey and black cellphone. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

"Yes? And I suppose what you did mean to happen was the breaking of my jaw or nose courtesy of your fist."

"I don't know." He began to dial. "I wasn't thinking. I'll just call Omi now. Let's just get on with the mission." He brought the phone to his ear and waited.

Aya looked ahead, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to calm his swelling anger. _No need to yell at him. He couldn't have hit me any way, he's tried one too many times for that. But he really should learn to control that temper. It's so childish. That must be it! He acts like a child, so I want to . . . protect him. That's what I see him as, a child. Adults feel naturally compelled to protect children. How ridiculous! If he would just grow up, I wouldn't have this problem_.

"Omi?" Ken's voice rang faintly. "Yeah, it's Ken. We've hidden the car in woods. Come meet us now, by the edge." A pause. "Just say, the car broke down."

That voice was the source of all of Aya's problems. He was certain of it. It was entirely Ken's fault that his control had slipped. But now that he knew, he was sure it wouldn't happen again. Ever.


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of water running woke him from his light doze. Still only half-awake, he lay listening for a moment, attempting to determine its source. As time relieved him of his grogginess, it became quite obvious that the water must be coming from the kitchen sink, because the bathrooms were all two floors above where he lay on the couch in the basement. He sat up and looked at the clock mounted on the wall behind him. 3:27 flashed in fluorescent digital notation.

_What on Earth is some one doing in the kitchen at this hour?_


	4. Chapter 4

He disgusted himself.

He was just going to follow him once he said. Just make sure he wasn't doing anything to endanger the mission. Well, at least, he'd said that to himself. He couldn't say that to Omi and Yohji because they would have tried to stop him. Told him he was being overly suspicious, told him Ken was trustworthy and leave him alone. Yohji might have said that anyway. Such concepts as suspicion were probably beyond the capacity of Omi's naive little head.

Regardless, the point was that he had told himself that he was just going to follow Ken once. Just surreptitiously pursue him to determine exactly where he was going and what he was planning on discussing with this Kase. And, he had said, it was entirely Ken's fault that he was doing it. It wasn't that he didn't trust the younger assassin himself per se, he just was dubious of his judgment. But if he followed him just once, saw him with Kase, heard him talk to the guy, he would certainly be able to determine exactly what and how much he was planning to divulge. Five minutes, then he'd leave.

Five minutes turned to ten minutes to fifteen to following Ken and Kase to a bar, then inside the bar, staying and listening to them talk about an unfortunate past, then pursuing them to the parking garage where Ken had left his motorcycle and listening some more. He was well on his way to becoming a genuine stalker.

Yet that wasn't the worst part of it. It would be one thing if he had secretly stalked Ken, learning all sorts of things about the boy's past he was still convinced he didn't care about in the slightest, and then kept it a secret, but no. He hadn't exactly said outright that he had followed him around all day, hidden behind walls and in the shadows and listened to every word exchanged between he and Kase. He just said, to Ken, that because of what he said to Kase, Kase had become scared and told Genji Koga to disappear. But that was enough to set off that temper of his. Ken had gone straight to Manx, and afterwards, clearly unsatisfied with that conversation, had taken off on his motorcycle. At midnight, nonetheless.

Now Weiss's stable and fearless leader sat with elbows leaning on the kitchen table, and eyes fixed on the window above the sink. That way when Ken came back, he'd be certain to see the headlight of his motorcycle and know. He wasn't worried about him. He was concerned. 'Concerned' and 'worried' were very different adjectives. 'Worried' suggested restlessness, nervousness, genuine fear that you may never see some one again. It meant a racing heart, staying up all night, longing desperately to see that face so that you knew it was safe and then wanting to take the body that owned it into your arms and protect it, never let it leave you. 'Concerned', which is what he was, simply suggested a general interest in another person's welfare. It was all about connotation.

He shifted irritably and glanced briefly at the clock on the stove, immediately returning his gaze to the window. He didn't want to miss Ken's return while his head was turned. It was 2:30, and he still wasn't back.

_Where the hell is he? Did he go off looking for Kase? Does he even know where Kase is? What could he possibly have to say to Kase now that couldn't wait until at least tomorrow morning?_

Aya did not like Kase. He had decided that several hours ago. There was something wrong about him. His whole story about accidentally giving Ken the drugged water-bottle then hunting down and being dragged off by the guilty party just didn't quite line up. If he didn't drug the water-bottle himself, how would he have found out that the water in that particular bottle was drugged after Ken had already finished it?

Okay, so the answer to that question was relatively obvious. Clearly traces of drug content had been found in the empty bottle and it was not totally unlikely that Kase would remember what the water bottle he had given to Ken at half-time looked like.

But there was more. Kase's whole attitude just seemed, well, fake. He was too loud, too jovial at Ken's appearance, too physical with the boy, always wrapping an arm about as his shoulder as if Ken couldn't walk on his own, too ostensibly tortured by his supposed past mistakes. Everything about him was extreme and forced. Ken definitely trusted him too much.

_The idiot. He's so hung up over his past he can't see the present. Doesn't he suspect Kase at all? He _does_ work for the Creeper Gang, Persia's never wrong. And the Creepers do engage in illegal activity. So why doesn't he even consider the fact that Kase may have changed in the two years he hasn't seen him?_

Aya certainly hoped he'd changed, otherwise his opinion of Ken's choice in friends had just plummeted to unfathomable depths. Why the hell did Ken like and trust somebody who was _so_ annoying? He talked nonstop, his coordination seemed as though it were possibly worse than Ken's, he was boisterous, clingy, and needed verbal acknowledgment for every ridiculously righteous statement he made. Aya couldn't understand how Ken could possibly tolerate being within earshot of that garish Neanderthal, let alone _enjoy_ spending an entire day in his presence.

Something deep within him told Aya that he was being overly critical of Kase, that he was perhaps searching for flaws and creating ones which didn't actually exist.

_Maybe I am being a bit of a hypocrite. I'm attached to my past. If my little sister suddenly turned up awake and lively at the flower shop door some day, I suppose I'd want to spend every waking second with her. Even if she would chew my ear off with two years worth of unstated ramblings._

But his connection to the past was different. His sister was an innocent girl lying in a coma in a hospital, depending on the money he made in Weiss for treatment. Not like Kase, a suspected criminal. Not even suspected. Proven, definitely proven, or else why would Persia have designated him a target? What Kase was doing to Ken was unforgivable, bombarding his fragile mind with painful memories, drawing him away from Weiss, though Kase didn't know anything about Weiss, using his past as bait.

And Ken had spent the entire fucking day with him, greedily devouring every ounce of memory served to him, eagerly putting his own two cents in, delighting in the shared experience. Why the hell Ken seemed to enjoy remembering that he faced public humiliation and had a promising career ruined was beyond Aya. But he did and just adored Kase telling him that he'd make up for everything that was wrong, that he'd get whoever had drugged Ken, that he'd be his goddamn hero.

It was infuriating and that was what disgusted him. Aya was seething with anger and all of the anger was directed at Kase. He was not simply concerned for Ken's welfare, but irritated by the thought that he may have gone to spend more time with Kase. It was not Ken's fault that he was sitting up at the table at 2:36 a.m. waiting for the boy's return. Rather he was not compelled by a natural adult instinct to remain and ensure the well-being of one he viewed as a child. He wouldn't have sat up waiting for Omi. He stayed because he could not stand the thought of Ken spending the entire night out with Kase. He couldn't stand the thought of Ken spending the entire night out anywhere, since he could easily get himself in trouble and wind up getting hurt, but right now the thought of he and Kase was the most aggravating.

Careful footsteps and a softly creaking door drew Aya suddenly from his thoughts and he fixed an icy stare on the doorway. He was fully prepared to give Ken the lecture of his life.

_Honestly, trying to sneak in at this hour, as if we didn't notice he'd run off at midnight and not come back!_

But it was not Ken's athletic frame that appeared in the shadows but the tall and lanky form of Yohji.

"A-Aya," the blonde half-stammered, peering incredulously over the rims of his dark glasses. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Aya retorted. He was well aware it was not the answer Yohji was looking for, but Yohji was looking for an answer that was none of his damn business.

"Right," Yohji said slowly, nodding once then beginning to make his way across the kitchen toward the hallway.

"What were you doing out at this hour?" Aya demanded, though he immediately regretted it. He knew about Yohji's nightly antics and feared he may momentarily become better informed of the details than he ever wanted to be. Rashly he followed with, "You weren't out looking for Ken were you?"

"Ken?" Yohji asked stopping to look back at Aya with a raised eyebrow. "Well no, I can't say I was. He's not exactly what I had on my mind. Is he still gone?"

_Why did I say that?_ Aya wondered not quite desperately. He quickly turned his head away from Yohji to stare intently out the window again_. Why did I have to say anything to him at all?_

"Aya I asked you a question."

_Maybe if I just ignore him he'll go away. _ The red head stood and headed to the cabinet where the glasses were kept.

Yohji laughed. An irritating amused snicker heralding the concocting of some ludicrous notion which he, no doubt, thought was ingenious. "Wait a second," he began, chortling again, "are you sitting down here waiting for him to come back? Are you really worried about him?"

"I am not worried, I'm just a little concerned," Aya stated flatly, opening the freezer and grabbing ice cubes to drop in his glass.

"Ah, and why is that may I ask?" Yohji asked, emerald eyes narrowing with mischief.

"You may not ask," Aya said. He turned on the kitchen sink and thrust his glass under the faucet.

"Is it because of that guy? Kaze or something?"

Aya turned sharply, glaring maliciously at Yohji, feeling quite certain that presently he was fully capable of wringing the man's neck. "Kase is a confirmed criminal! Ken has got to make up his mind. Either accept his duty as Weiss and eliminate the target or ally himself with the target and become one himself! There's no telling what Kase may suspect, what information he may be trying to lure out of Ken's mouth!"

"Woah, hold on here." Yohji paused, his wan lips curling into a devious smirk. "You're not jealous of Kase are you?"

Screw throttling. A quick decapitation and have done with it.

Yohji laughed again, this time a huge, uncontrollable guffaw which threw him off balance and sent him stumbling back a few steps. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he struggled to compose himself and speak. "Oh this is too much! You're sitting up here at quarter to three in the morning waiting for Ken to come home to make sure he hasn't gone and spent the night with Kase! And to think I thought you didn't give a damn about anything! And here you are, our stoic leader, enamored of our former athlete and victim to the green-eyed monster!"

Aya lunged forward and caught Yohji by the collar of his black tee-shirt. And no past glares of fury could compare to the sheer wrath which flashed presently in those violet eyes. A clenched white hand pulled the collar taut about Yohji's neck. "I . . . am . . . _not_ . . . jealous . . . of . . . Kase," he declared, pausing between each super-articulated word.

"Your water's over flowing," Yohji said, glancing, still amusedly, in the direction of the kitchen faucet, under which Aya still held his glass.

The red haired assassin released his captive, roughly shoving him away as he did so. Calmly he reached over the sink with his now free hand and turned the water off.

"Well, uh, happy night-watching!" Yohji exclaimed, a twinge of apprehension in his tone. "I've had a wild couple of hours and I need my beauty sleep. See ya in the morning!" He disappeared down the hall.

_He's just ignorant. Just ignorant and obnoxious and obsessed with sex. Not a criminal, not really a bad guy, certainly not evil. There's absolutely no reason to kill him_. Though God knew about two minutes ago he had wanted to.

_But how dare he make such ridiculous suggestions. I am not jealous of Kase. Why would I ever be jealous of a criminal low life who deceives people to make them keep loving him?_

And there was that key word. Love. The verb that he had tried to avoid using as a link between two proper nouns. The word he had left out of all his questions. The question he had not yet addressed. Did Ken _love_ Kase?

The clamor of heavy footsteps and clatter of the kitchen door crashing open against the wall sounded the return of the former. He looked a mess, like a child after too vigorous play, with grass stained knees, dirt-smudged face, and awkwardly slumping shoulders. Doubtless there were bruises on the arms attached to those shoulders. Here stood a boy who had played too hard too long and was now numb with languor.

A boy in all aspects from his untied boot-laces to his disheveled hair. All aspects except for the weary eyes. Weary, too weary, and glazed with sadness. A pair of glossy, grown-up eyes on a boy in every other way; a mosaic of child-adult forlornness.

Ken trudged sluggishly across the kitchen tiles, traces of caked mud dislodging from his boot soles. He seemed to be be completely unconscious of his surroundings, narrowly avoiding collision with the table, a phenomena of familiarity not observation. Still, Aya couldn't quite decide if Ken actually hadn't seen him or chose not to see him. Either would be disturbing, the former erring on frightening, the latter irritating. Yet eager as he was to determine which of these possibilities was fact, Aya couldn't bring himself to verbally attack the boy as he had planned.

"Ken," Aya began, his voice low and firm, though not cold. There was no malice in his tone, no anger, no impatience. In fact there was no sort of intonation whatsoever. Just a total conviction to the word spoken, a testimony to its deliberateness.

Ken stopped suddenly, a small gasp escaping his throat as he whirled to face Aya, sincerely shocked. He said nothing, his tired brown eyes widening but not wakening.

"Where were you?" Aya asked, truly asked, not demanded.

"I was," Ken began to answer. His eyes narrowed again and Aya wondered if he would collapse asleep before finishing. "I was out. These guys chased after me. I was on my motorcycle and these men in a van chased me and they tried to kill me. I drove off the road. I fell of my bike. I hid in the grass."

_Does he even know he's talking?_

"I got up when they were gone and I came back here. I'm fine, I just-"

"Ken," Aya interjected, concern creeping into his voice. "Go upstairs and go to bed."

And he did. And that was it. No yelling. No demanding to know exactly where he had gone and why he had been so reckless and taken off alone in the middle of the night. No lecture about the possible negative consequences of aforementioned action. No fisticuffs. Just a simple command willingly obeyed. Not even a stern command, not an ascertation of authority, which would have at least been characteristic of Aya. A gentle command, an act of compassion.

Aya hastily gulped down the water in his glass then slammed it down on the kitchen counter. He had just sat up for near three hours waiting to tell Ken to go to bed.

_I could go up there right now. I could turn the lights on, corner him, make him tell me exactly where he went and what he really did._

But the truth was he didn't want to go wake him. Didn't want to force anything out of him. He knew Ken had been far too tired to lie, and though the boy hadn't told the whole truth, anything he said had certainly been fact. Besides, it was only his exhaustion that prevented him from recounting everything.

Aya pacified. His grip on the glass relaxed. He knew enough. Ken had not been with Kase.

Anger resurfaced. _The reckless idiot! Why doesn't he ever think before he charges into things? He said he was chased, said people tried to kill him, that he fell off his bike. He could have been hurt and then lay injured without anyone knowing where he was! He could have snapped his neck and died instantly! I could have waited days on end not knowing whether he was alive or dead!_

His internal ranting ceased. Abruptly, uncomfortably, realization set in. He had been worried about Ken. Genuinely. Not just concerned. He was angry at himself, not Ken. Angry because he cared.


	5. Chapter 5

He swung his legs over the edge of the couch and stood up. A small lamp on an end table provided just enough light to outline the objects in the room and prevent him from toppling over furniture. Though driven by curiosity, he was still not entirely awake, and was grateful for the light. Somewhat lethargically, he tread across the carpeted floor then to and up the narrow spiral staircase. Reaching the top, he proceeded down the short corridor towards the kitchen.


	6. Chapter 6

Omi was sitting in the stairwell and moping and Ken didn't like it. Cheery Omi with blue beaming tea-saucer eyes had been sitting utterly silent and unbearably still for close to five hours now. At least, it seemed like five hours, though in fact it had only been five minutes, the five minutes immediately proceeding his exit of Aya's room. But Ken's perception of time was never exactly accurate. All he knew was that Omi had been sullen for much too long and that his own impatience would not allow him to endure it any longer. He would just have to ask Omi what was wrong.

Not that he couldn't guess. After all, just that afternoon he'd thought Aya was going to kill the boy. Just run him through right on the spot, no questions asked. It seemed that a name qualified as excellent justification for murder in Aya's book. Ken was actually surprised Omi had been brave enough to confront the redhead at all, and alone! Perhaps he had just been naive. Either way he was still intact. At least physically.

However Ken knew the Aya's tongue was just as deadly as his katana. Worse even, sometimes. Because if he attacked and wounded a teammate, chances are he would have been wrong. Then Aya could get reprimanded, even punished maybe, injured party loaded up in an ambulance, shipped to the hospital, sewn up, doused with heavy painkillers and everything's just peachy. Not so when Aya was the one doing the reprimanding. Then he was _always_ right.

Not that Ken really thought that Aya had been lecturing Omi on anything, heaven forbid as he seemed to hold the monopoly on that privilege, but he was sure Aya must have said _something_ to make Omi upset. And he was going to find out exactly what that was.

"Hey Omi," Ken began, cautiously cheerful, as he approached the top of the stairs. He had been standing outside his room, having noticed Omi leaving Aya's room just before completing his return journey from the kitchen. A quarter-empty bottle of gatorade was clutched in his hand.

Omi glanced slowly up at him, his saucer eyes expanding to at least a third of their usual size. But he didn't say anything.

Ken sat down beside him. "You, uh, you want some of my gatorade?" A pathetic offer, but he didn't want to just confront the kid and demand outright that he tell him what his problem was. That would be entirely tactless and exactly what Aya would do.

"No," Omi said coldly, staring off into space ahead. He paused and then murmured a barely audible, "Thank you."

_Well at least he's acting _somewhat_ like his usual self, being polite and such._

"Are you sure? It's lemon-lime, good stuff!" Ken exclaimed, thrusting the bottle in front of Omi's face.

"I don't like lemon-lime," Omi declared irritably, pushing Ken's arm away. "Besides you backwash."

"I do not," Ken said with feigned indignance.

"Yes you do!" Omi retorted. "You gulp down half the bottle, swallow as much as you possibly can and spit the rest back! And half of what you spit out ends up on your chin!" His eyes brightened.

"Oh does it?" Ken attempted to demand while he struggled to contain his laughter.

"Yeah! You look like slobbery dog lapping water from a bowl!" Omi giggled. A soft, reflective giggle, lacking his habitual merriment, but a giggle all the same.

"Ah-hah!" Ken cried triumphantly. "See, I've got you smiling now!"

Omi sighed still half-smiling. He shrugged and tilted his sandy-blonde head to one side. "I guess you have." The smile faded and he rocked back, resting his weight on the heels of his palms.

"Hey Omitchi," Ken began cautiously, "you wanna tell me what's wrong?"

Omi looked at him. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came and his head snapped about to gaze over his opposite shoulder. He drew his knees up close his chest, curling about himself and rocking slightly. Ken couldn't tell if he was just uneasy or actually crying.

_Damn that Aya! To make Omi so upset he won't even talk about it? What the hell did he say to him? Not that Omi ranks among the toughest people I know, poor kid could probably literally cry over spilled milk, but all the same, Aya should show at least _some_ consideration for people's feelings! Or at least demonstrate that he's aware that people have feelings_.

Ken clamped a hand over Omi's trembling shoulder, squeezing it tightly out of sympathy. "Hey Omitchi, it's okay. Aya can be a real bastard sometimes. Whatever he said to you, don't let it get to you. H-"

"It's not that Ken," Omi interrupted, looking over at him once again. "I just, well . . . I'm just a little shocked. Yeah, I still can't quite believe that I'm a Takatori. That's it." His voice quavered with uncertainty and there were tears in his eyes. He was lying, and poorly.

"Omi, that'-"

"Ken," Omi interrupted again, grabbing hold of the older boy's hand on his shoulder. "That's all. I'll be okay in a little while. I just need some time to let everything sink in."

"But Omi are you sure there's nothing else wrong? I mean, you were certainly down this afternoon, but you weren't this upset before you went to see Aya. What did you talk to him about?" Ken asked, more insistent than before. Omi's attempt to suppress his emotions was seriously scaring him.

"Yes, what?" a third voice chimed in. Ken immediately recognized that it belonged to Yohji and looked down to see the eldest member of Weiss climbing the steps. He sat on the step below the already seated pair, beside Omi's sneakered feet.

"It was very brave of you to go all alone to see him, Omitichi," Yohji commented, placing a hand on Omi's free shoulder, and peering up at the boy's now downcast face.

"Yeah!" Ken piped up. "He was really scary, and I mean that honestly. I've noticed before that just mentioning the name 'Takatori' makes him mad. I just can't understand why."

"Me neither," Yohji agreed eyes darting from Omi to Ken to Aya's closed door and back again. "I wonder . . ."

"I asked him," Omi said weakly. "That's what I did when I went to see him. I went and asked him why he hated the Takatoris so much. What they did to make him hate them." He choked back a sob. "But- but, he wouldn't tell me." He buried his face in his palms, a pointless attempt to conceal the fact that he was crying.

"Oh Omitchi, it's okay," Ken said, wrapping an arm about the boy's shoulders. "Aya doesn't ever tell anyone anything. He's just like that. A real jerk."

"I don't want it to be this way! I don't want Aya to hate me!" Omi cried. He flinched away from Ken, wrapped his arms about himself and cried openly.

"Omi, Omi don't cry. Come here," Yohji commanded gently. He moved up onto the step next to Omi, situating himself against the wall and took the boy in his arms, rubbing his small, quivering back. "Aya doesn't hate you."

Ken wanted to agree. He wanted to comfort and reassure his weeping friend, but he couldn't. Not when he was unsure himself. True it seemed unlikely that Aya would actually _hate_ Tsukiyono Omi, but Takatori Mamoru was an entirely different story. And since Aya probably never really _liked_ Omi, since clearly he didn't like any of them, it was not unbelievable that Aya would detach Omi completely from Mamoru and hate Mamoru while remaining indifferent towards Omi. And hatred was a far more prominent sentiment than indifference.

"Right KenKen?" Yohji's voice questioned, drawing the brunette out of his thoughts.

"Uh . . . yeah," he agreed hesitantly. "And who cares if he does any way!" He fixed his eyes on Aya's door and suddenly felt like crying himself.

_He can't be allowed to do this to people!_

"Ken, don't say that!" Omi scolded, lifting his head from Yohji's shoulder. "We're all Weiss and we're all each other has. We can't hate one another!" He leaned his head back down, closing his bloodshot eyes. He clung tightly to Yohji. "I wish we could go back to the way we were. I wish I never knew about my family. Wish that I could just be Tsukiyono Omi and not feel any longing to be Takatori Mamoru."

"Hey, you'll always be our Omitchi," Yohji proclaimed. "Knowing that you were born a Takatori doesn't change that. You're still the same person you were yesterday."

"Yeah!" Ken chimed, voice ringing with his sincerity. "Omitchi we still like you, so don't worry about Aya." _He never cared about any of us anyway._

"That's right. Never mind what Aya thinks. The two of us are always here for you," Yohji declared, tilting Omi's chin up to meet his gaze. "The three of us . . . we'll always stick together. No matter what. We'll look out for each other."

Omi smiled slightly. He looked over at Ken who nodded his agreement.

They stayed like that for a while, Omi secured in Yohji's embrace, Ken right beside the two. All three full of sadness. All three trying to hope, trying to believe they were happy, that some day they might be. Forget before, understand now, and maybe enjoy tomorrow. And it was clear that there was a 'they'. That each individual was part of a single whole.

_What a strange family we make_, Ken mused.

Omi was right. They were all each other had. They all felt something for one another. Love, friendship, sympathy. Whatever it was, they felt it, felt connected and depended on it for survival. Physically and emotionally. But Aya didn't seem to understand that. He clearly was convinced that he needed no one but himself to survive. Give him a katana and someone to kill and he's set.

They all felt something, but Aya felt nothing. The 'whole' was incomplete.

_Maybe he is different. Maybe he doesn't need people. But people believe they need him and he can't toss them aside_.

Yohji took Omi and put him to bed. Then he went into his own room. He didn't notice Ken still sitting at the the top of the stairs.

Something had to be done about Aya and Ken was going to personally ensure that something was. He wasn't sure what he planned to do, exactly, but he was going to take action. He was angry, angry with Aya for making Omi cry, angry that he scorned them all, angry that he didn't need them. Angry because he was angry and Aya made him so.

He strode deliberately to Aya's closed door, opened it and marched in. He hadn't bothered to knock. Adding a second item to his list of his most likely meriting a punch in the stomach bold acts, he flicked the light switch. Eyes dazzled by the sudden brightness, he continued half blindly across the wooden floor until he guessed he was about two yards from Aya's bed.

His depth perception was not entirely functional.

Instantly, Aya was on his feet, calves touching the edge of the bed and barely a foot from Ken. He was still in his jeans and, despite the hour and the darkness, had clearly not been trying to sleep. Violet eyes narrowed, but not in reaction to the light. Rather in reaction to the one who's finger upon a switch had conjured it.

"Hidaka," he growled, "what are doing here?"

"What is you problem Aya?" Ken demanded, holding with his current brash attitude.

"What the hell are you talking about?" the redhead snapped back.

Ken glowered, annoyed. _As if he doesn't know. Figures, he probably thinks I don't give a damn about Omi, since he doesn't._ "You know what I'm talking about. Omi. Our comrade. My friend. Cute little kid with enormous eyes. What the fuck did you say to him to make him so upset?"

Aya glared silently for a moment. "I didn't say anything."

"Bullshit. Omi wouldn't cry over nothing," Ken retorted. "Unless he asked you something important and you didn't answer him. Is that what it is? He asked you why you hated the Takatoris so much and you wouldn't tell him anything?"

"I am not obligated to reveal any of my reasoning for my personal opinions to anyone."

"No of course not, and even if you did it would take a grand total of maybe five minutes." Censorship had been officially abandoned.

"Are you suggesting, Ken, that I have insufficient justification for my feelings?"

"No. What I'm suggesting is the only feeling you have is your hatred for the Takatoris and other than that you don't give a damn about anything so you'd have nothing to talk about!" Ken paused, becoming slightly less impassioned. "So now that he's a Takatori, do you actually feel something for Omi? Do you hate him?"

"I do not hate Omi," Aya replied cooly.

"So you still don't feel anything for him," Ken declared.

"I didn't say that, I said that I didn't hate him."

"So you just dislike him."

Aya shifted irritably and advanced a step towards Ken. "I do not dislike Omi."

"Then what is your opinion of Omi?" Ken asked, determined brown eyes meeting Aya's wrathy stare. "Or Yohji for that matter, what do you think of him? Or me?"

"What are you getting at Hidaka?" Aya asked, voice callous and monotone.

_How like him. He's asking me a question only to advance the conversation so it can come to a conclusion and I can go away. He doesn't care about my actual answer. How could he care about what comes out of the mouth of someone he never thinks twice about? I could say anything. He probably won't notice_.

"I want to know, Aya. I want to know what you think of me."

And that was the truth. Oh yes he was angry at Aya for making Omi cry, but as far as he could tell, the reason Omi was crying was not, per se, because Aya wouldn't answer his question, but because he was afraid that Aya hated him. Because he didn't know what Aya thought about him.

"What?" Aya questioned in a tone remotely resembling confusion.

"I want to know what you really think of me. No. Not what you think of me. I know that. You've told me about a million times that I'm stupid, clumsy, incompetent and bad tempered. What you _feel_ for me."

Aya scowled. "You're being ridiculous. Go away, I was trying to sleep."

"No, not until you answer me." _I need to know. If I don't, then I don't know if you feel anything for any of us. And I can't help Omi._

But this was no longer about Omi. It was about a brief but ardent history of temperamental outbursts and almost-brawls. It was about screw-ups and sermons. It was about wanting to cry, about Ken knowing that every criticism Aya had of him was true, but not knowing why he made them. Ken wanted, needed, to know why.

"Leave," Aya commanded.

"Huh?"

"This is my room. I never gave you permission to enter it. Get out and let me go to sleep."

"You're just avoiding my question!" Ken exclaimed.

"I said get out."

"No!"

"Yes."

"Dammit Aya!" Suddenly overcome by his unruly temper, Ken thrust his fist at Aya's face. And hit him. Squarely in the jaw. It was the first time since their initial formal introduction in the flower shop near six months ago that one of his punches had actually connected.

He stumbled back, astonished. The perfect porcelain skin was pink where it stretched so thinly over Aya's angular jawbone. It would bruise, and badly if it wasn't iced. But Aya showed no indication of pain. His head turned slowly forward and Ken winced in anticipation of the consequences he was about to face. Physical or verbal punishment was due. But he was sorry, really, sincerely sorry, and ashamed of his inability to control his temper.

Aya lunged at him and he braced himself for a blow. But Aya did not hit him. He kissed him.

It was a vicious, biting kiss. The rough contact of lips, Aya's tongue savagely forcing its way into Ken's mouth, a surprising click of teeth. A lemon-lime flavored kiss. Lusty and deep, oxygen and thought depriving. Ken collapsed against Aya and would have crumpled helplessly on the floor were it not for the redhead's viselike grip upon his shoulders.

There was a dampened thud as plastic collided with straight woven wool. And Ken had one thought. He was drowning. He was drowning, but he was not underwater. He needed to breathe, but he couldn't, because he didn't know what was stopping him.

Then he was on the floor, knees bent, calves curled beneath him, leaning forward on his wrists, gasping for air. Panting, breath choked and irregular. As the gasping subsided and breathing evened, some semblance of organized thought restored. It occurred to Ken that he had fallen to the floor, that he was not there by choice, and that he had not been physically pushed. But his shoulders hurt. And then he remembered Aya's hands gripping them. Not so unusual, they fought quite frequently, and sometimes physically. Then he remembered.

It _was_ Aya's fault that he was on the floor. But not because he had punched him, or even simply pushed him. Because he let go.

Ken brought a trembling hand to his swollen lips. He shuddered involuntarily and closed his eyes. Aya had kissed him. The thought was overwhelming. Unreal. Ridiculous in fact, and Ken was certain he must be dreaming.

_Aya, who doesn't feel anything for any body, kissed me. Right._ He almost laughed. It was amusing really. Crazy, but amusing. And nice. God was it nice. He wanted it to be real.

The kiss had been passionate. Frenzied, desperate passion, void of affection, but passion, feeling, something. It proved that Aya could feel, did feel. Something. And for Ken. Even if it was just a physical desire to dominate, to assert authority, to render submissive, it was there. Or would have been there had the kiss happened, but it didn't, so it wasn't.

Ken looked up. Aya stood before him, towering, ominous, sour as ever. Tight, muscled legs clad in stone-wash, lean chest concealed in layers of fine white cotton and loose green linen. Broad and sculpted shoulders. Glowing cold violet eyes. Red hair nearly touching them, fiery against flawless white skin. Flawless but for the soft pink patch swelling on the jaw. Ken was acutely aware of an irresistible quality to Aya's appearance. Dumbfounding physical desire. He wanted the kiss to be real and he wanted to be kissed again.

"Aya," he began softly, but stopped realizing there was nothing to say. Aya didn't kiss him. Couldn't have. Not with those wan and sneering lips. Never. Much as he wanted it.

He stood and left the room in a hurry, rushing to his own, near slamming the door, and falling back against it. He pinched himself for good measure. And it hurt. He told himself to wake up, but he didn't. He pinched himself again, harder this time, and cried out. He wasn't dreaming.

Confusion set in. Aya had kissed him and he wasn't dreaming. Not a chaste little peck on cheek. A deep, passionate, tongue warring, saliva swapping kiss. Not some mark of brotherly affection. No. Something else. He was elated. He was frightened. What did it mean?


	7. Chapter 7

The water was running. He took off his jacket, let it slide from his shoulders and fall heavily to the floor. It reeked of blood. If he could see the lining, he supposed it must be soaked, if his tee shirt, or what remained of it, was any indication. He shivered, now cold, and wondered how he would go about cleaning his wound. There should have been a simple answer, but it eluded him. A wash cloth. He needed a washcloth. But the only washcloths were up stairs. Unless there were some in the laundry baskets, but the laundry room seemed miles away. He could use a dishtowel. There were dishtowels in the cabinet next to the stove.

He moved towards it and stumbled, the counter preventing him from crashing to the floor. He knew he needed to kneel down to open the cabinet, but he felt dizzy. He just needed to stand for a moment. He'd be okay soon.

"Ken?"

Startled by the voice, he would have whirled about, were he not so lightheaded. Sudden movement was entirely beyond him. But thought was still at least partially accessible and he knew exactly who the voice belonged to. Knew immediately and was petrified.

_Aya. No. Nonono. Dammit. Please go away. Leave me alone. Don't come near me. I'm fine, I'm fine, I don't need you. I don't need anybody. I'm okay, I'm okay. Please God make him go away. I don't want him. Not now._

He closed his eyes tightly and wished to disappear.


	8. Chapter 8

The basement was a mess. Just the way they'd left it. The S.D.s had gotten to it when they went to get Takatori. It was in shambles when they, victorious, returned, bullet holes blasted in everything, the walls, the furniture, the television. But there had been no point in fixing it up, since they didn't need it any more. Though it was not used solely for receiving missions, that was its primary purpose. And there weren't going to be any more missions to receive.

At least that was the plan. Takatori was dead. Weiss had served its purpose. Persia had died, but got his revenge. And Manx disappeared. So there was no one to give them missions any more. No one to keep them together. No reason to stay together. Weiss dissolved and everyone went their separate ways.

Sort of. Ken and Omi still lived together, though they'd moved from the desolated flower shop to an apartment several blocks away. Omi was still in school and couldn't make enough money to rent a place. Not that Ken was exactly financially stable, but he did manage to make enough money coaching elementary soccer teams and waiting tables to get by. Yohji was constantly moving about Tokyo doing God knows what. Ken had seen him once or twice in the earliest weeks following Takatori's death, but not since then. He did respond when Omi emailed him once, but it was just a short, polite, "I'm moving around a lot, hope all is well with you" response. Aya took off for some beach somewhere near some hospital where he moved his little sister to. He'd said he thought the climate out there would be better for her, though that was ridiculous since she certainly wasn't going to be sitting outside enjoying the warm sun's warmth and fresh air. Being in a coma and all.

Ken suspected the reason Aya really chose to take off to some distant locale and leave no real indication of his whereabouts was that he had no intention of ever having anything to do with any of them ever again. It seemed that Omi agreed with this conjecture, since he hadn't bothered to write to him until a week and half ago and implied no dismay at the thought of receiving no reply. And reply Aya did not.

And though Omi was unfazed, Ken was quite the contrary. No, he hadn't honestly expected Aya to write back, but part of him had hoped. Really, sincerely hoped. Hoped that maybe Aya wouldn't reply to Omi, but would write to him, and tell him exactly where he was, and that he missed him desperately, and couldn't bear to be separated from him any longer. But really he knew that would never happen.

Ken had not been entirely the same since Aya kissed him. Or maybe he was the same but had simply become aware of certain aspects of himself that he never really noticed before. For example, his dependence on Aya. Aya's actions had always had an immense effect upon him, driving him to irrationality, pulling at his emotions, and he's always cared overly much about Aya's opinion, but until feeling the redhead's vicious, passionate kiss upon his lips he did not acknowledge this. And since he had acknowledged it, it had grown, beyond simply needing win Aya's approval, but physically needing to be in his presence. Needing to work by him in the flower shop, needing to be by his side during every mission. It was all he could do to keep from going crazy, since Aya had shown no indication that he needed Ken or that he even cared at all for him since their kiss. It was almost as if it never happened.

But it did and Ken knew it did, though he often tried to pretend it didn't. If he pretended that it never happened it was easier to pretend that he didn't need Aya.

He didn't start doing that until Aya left Weiss, not long after the death of Omi's sister Ouka, intending to exact his revenge on Reiji Takatori on his own. Though he hadn't know for sure, Ken had suspected that Aya was probably not exactly thrilled with the fact that Persia, the man he was taking orders from, was himself a Takatori and this had likely influenced his flight. Then Weiss had a mission, which they had to attempt without Aya. And Ken had charged off determinedly with Omi and Yohji into what all of them knew was a trap, pretending they didn't need Aya. Pretending he didn't need Aya, that he in fact, didn't give a damn about him. Unfortunately almost being killed in action only to be saved just in time by a returned Aya did not boost the credibility of this notion.

For a moment Ken had allowed himself to believe that Aya really had returned to rescue them. That Aya seriously cared about them and would have mourned their deaths. Maybe even really struggled to live on without them. Without him. But then after they'd killed Takatori, Aya took off mumbling about the beach and his sister's recovery and only half saying good bye.

So Ken was back to pretending. Not only pretending that he could live without Aya, but that he could live without Weiss, that he could lead a normal life. And be happy doing so. That is, he _was_ pretending this, until Schoen showed up and killed a truck driver, causing the unmanned truck to nearly run over himself and several of the children he coached.

That had happened this afternoon. Now it was night and he was in the basement. Just trying to collect his thoughts. Or so he'd told himself, but really he was contemplating Weiss. Contemplating the fact that it seemed possible that it would form again. Contemplating the fact a part of him wanted it to form again. Trying to convince himself that this was not true, that he would not be happy returning to that life.

He sat down on the couch, despite the bullet holes in it, and buried his face in his hands. _I'm so pathetic_, he thought. Here he was sitting in a half decimated, cold and unlit basement and happier than he'd been in almost two months. Since Weiss disbanded and he left the basement behind. But just being there was enough, enough to make him realize that he really did want Weiss to reform, that he wanted to go back to living above the flower shop, manning it in the day and killing criminals in the night. Not that he enjoyed killing people, on the contrary he hated it, but so long as he kept on killing, Omi, Yohji and Aya were near him. And that was a price he was willing to pay, if killing was the only thing that would keep them together.

_Do I honestly expect them to all show up here? To come charging down the stairs and say "screw normal life, I want to be an assassin again"?_

He knew Omi wanted to return to Weiss. Not for the same reasons he did, but because the kid genuinely cared about the welfare of the innocents they used to able to protect from unpunishable criminals and couldn't stand helplessly watching them suffer. Not that Ken didn't care too, but caring was not his primary motivation.

Given a reason Yohji would probably come back. Any old reason would do. Ken was sure he missed he and Omi as much as they missed him, which was more than the green-eyed blonde cared to say, but given any excuse to be used as motivation, would return. And he cared about the innocent as well. All of them, and not just the women, as he claimed.

But Aya was not coming back. He had no lingering attachments to Weiss, no love for its members. No concern for the innocent. Just his sister, and he had her, far away, probably somewhere much nicer and safer than Tokyo. What Aya had was the ability to have a normal life, since he still had some one to anchor him to it. A real family. Not some makeshift one of fictive "kin" and sympathy.

_Once again Aya proves that he's a genius. Or at least a hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us. He had a piece of his former life remaining and he held on to it. He devoted himself entirely to his sister and kept the rest of us away. And now he's free and when his sister wakes up, he'll have a real life again. But I-_

Ken willed himself to stop thinking. Not that such a phenomena was possible, but it was nice to imagine that it was. Because whenever he was thinking he was thinking about Aya, and when he was thinking about Aya, he was thinking about the fact that he would never see him again. And that hurt too much.

So Ken sat absorbing the darkness. Waiting.

The soft clank of shoes against the metal drew Ken's attention the top of the spiral staircase. Surely it was Omi, worrying that Ken was not at home and guessing where he was. But the silhouette that slowly began to distinguish itself from the surrounding shadows was too tall to be Omi, and the footsteps had been too careful anyway. Yohji then. But it was too short to be Yohji.

Ken's pulse raced and he inhaled sharply. He dared not believe it was Aya.

But it was. The figure came to a halt at the foot of the stairs, and washed in the smallest amount of moonlight shining though the windows of the hall above, Ken could could see beyond a shadow of a doubt that Aya did indeed stand before him. Yet still he seemed unreal, his features made almost ghostly by the eerie light, like an apparition from a dream. He was beautiful, dressed all in black, save for a white collar, his skin the whiter for the contrast against the dark clothing, but the air about him was colder than ever. His eyes were terrifying.

"Aya," Ken hazarded, half-expecting him to vanish. Disconcerting as he was to behold, not to behold him would be far more unsettling. Especially since three minutes ago Ken was certain that he would never look upon him again.

Aya said nothing. He just stood, staring blankly. Ken rose to his feet and approached cautiously. Though Aya had not yet dematerialized or dissipated, Ken was still reluctant to accept his presence as reality. He walked within arms length and placed a hand on the taller boy's shoulder. It was solid.

Ken wanted to cry. Tears of joy, tears of relief. He had been wrong. Aya had returned and was standing before him. Ken wanted to embrace him, wanted to throw his arms about his neck, and kiss him, and cry into his shoulder. But before he let his emotions get the better of him, he realized there was a single, pressing question he needed to ask.

"Aya, what are you doing here?" That wasn't it but it was a start.

No reply.

So Ken continued, afraid of the answer. "Why did you come back?"

Aya was silent for another moment. He stepped away from Ken's hand. Finally he said, "It's complicated."

_Complicated?_ "I was attacked by one of the Schreient, I think," Ken said. Maybe explaining his own reasons could lure a response out of Aya. Maybe not, but it was worth a try. "I don't know for sure, but I thought I saw Schoen lurking behind a tree a the soccer field earlier today, and this truck almost ran into me because the driver was dead. It looked like he'd been strangled to death by a whip, and she fought with a whip. So I came back here, thinking maybe some one else had been attacked too, and maybe they'd come here to try to think of something to do about it."

_And maybe they'd stay here and live here. Maybe everyone would and it could be like old times again_.

"Oh," Aya said, after a while.

"But Aya, you never really answered me. Why did you come back? You said it was complicated, so tell me."

After all, 'complicated' could mean so many things, which Ken did not care to think about presently.

"I don't want to talk about it," Aya declared.

"Were you attacked too?" Ken continued, half ignoring his companion. "Did you find out about some horrible criminal organization and you want to put a stop to it? You know the other day Omi-"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it, and I meant it," Aya snapped.

"Come on Aya, just tell me." _Why do I keep on asking him? He's never going to give me the answer I want._

Silence, once again was the only reply.

Ken was getting angry. Here he was again with Aya left guessing at what the redhead was thinking. Guessing at his motivation. He'd thought he had it all figured out before when he decided Aya distanced himself from Weiss to devote himself entirely to his little sister, but now here he was. Maybe it would have been better if he didn't come back at all. He'd returned, but he was still far away. Emotionally anyway, or at least that was the way he was acting.

"Aya, honestly," Ken began, distraught. "Why did you come back? If you weren't attacked and there's no one you want to bring to justice, then why are you here? Is it us? Did you come back to see us? Did you miss us? Miss . . . me?"

Aya's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened.

_Something's bothering him. He's always cold, but never this angry. Why won't he just tell me? Can't he even just confide in me? As a friend?_

"Aya there's something bothering you. I know it. Tell me what's wrong!"

Aya glared at him for a long moment. Then punched him. And tackled him to the floor. How redundant all this fighting had become!

And they wrestled, fiercely, backs rolling, bruising against hardwood floor, struggling for dominance, hands all the while at each others' arms and shoulders. Time found Aya, the taller and slightly stronger, victorious. Ken struggled to get up, but the pressure of Aya's hands driving his shoulders into the ground nearly obliterated any hope of doing so. With enough writhing about, he managed to get his arms free enough to swing wildly but futilely at his attacker. To end this, Aya grabbed Ken's flailing wrists and pinned them down above his head, all the while driving a knee into his torso. Instinctively, Ken's hands clawed up, nails attempting to dig into the wrists of the fists which bound them. And his teeth snapped at the face looming so near above his own, half in retaliation, half out of frustration for his inability to retaliate with result. Noticing this, Aya glared down at him, viciously, narrowed violet eyes fixed on galled brown. For a moment.

Then everything changed. Aya's face buried in Ken's neck, kissing it, kissing the hollow of the shoulder blade, trailing kisses up his throat, along the jawbone, to the ear, tongue flicking in the inner cartilage. Hands were rushing down the brunette's sides, fighting frantically against the two layers of tee-shirts, finding their way beneath, caressing the smooth muscled chest they concealed. Fingers laced in belt-loops and under the waist band of denim jeans and Ken's hips shifted involuntarily towards the touch. He clutched desperately at Aya's back and their mouths met, Ken's parting automatically to allow Aya's tongue within. Brawling turned to foreplay and clothing was hastily, urgently discarded yielding way to sex.

Or would have had the brawling happened in the first place. But it didn't. It was a possibility, maybe, but not real. Ken imagined, it pretended it, played out in his mind an ending to their encounter laden with passion, intensity, feeling. Meaning. It was much better than the real thing.

It really ended with Aya staring blankly at the floor after Ken insisted he tell him why he came back a second time. It ended with Ken getting frustrated and wanting to scream and Yohji's footsteps on the stairs. It ended with Aya retreating to the far wall, Yohji sitting on the couch, and Ken sulking on a stool.

Essentially it ended with nothing. No clues as to why Aya returned, no hints about what he was thinking. No indication that he cared, no follow-ups to the first kiss months ago.

Yohji readily explained that he was attacked by the Schreient girl Neu who looked like his late partner Asuka. The lights switched on and Omi was on the stairs. They were back at the beginning. Weiss, a family, who needed each other, except for Aya, needed but not needing.


	9. Chapter 9

"Ken?" Aya repeated advancing towards him. The brunette was hunched over, gripping the edge of the countertop. The scent of blood permeated the air. Something wasn't right.

Still Ken did not move. He didn't even turn his head.

Aya moved closer to him, his pulse rushing, his head swimming. _What's wrong with him? He must be hurt and badly. Or is it just his victims' blood? How long has he been standing down here?_

"Ken what's wrong with you?" he asked in relative monotone, contrary to his inner desperate concern. He took another step closer.

"Nothing," Ken replied weakly.

"That's not true," Aya declared reaching out to touch him. "Here let me see-"

"I said nothing Aya!" Ken cried, face and voice laced with pain as he half-spun about and pushed the taller boy away from him.

Aya caught glimpse of the hand which thrust him back. It was swollen red and already bruising black and blue. And he feared it may be broken.

He grabbed hold of Ken's wrist, impulse overriding discretion, and the boy tried to pull away. He writhed about, screaming for Aya to let go of him, and Aya, not wanting to further injure the already wounded hand, wrapped his free arm tightly around Ken's waist from behind to restrain him.

"Aya stop it, let go of me!" Ken continued to protest, though much more feebly than before.

Ignoring him, Aya gingerly began prodding the injured knuckle with his fingers, feeling each bone, scrutinizing every joint.

"What- what are you doing?" Ken asked, now calm.

"Making sure your hand isn't broken," Aya replied. He turned Ken about to face him, gently bracing the wrist of the hand in question while continuing to probe. He was too preoccupied to notice the blood now on his arm.

"It isn't," he said finally, stopping. "But it needs to be iced. You're going to have a nasty bruise." He raised his eyes to meet Ken's. They were glassy, slightly glazed over. His face was nearly completely devoid of color. He looked seriously ill.

It was then that Aya recalled the the fervent and all too familiar scent. And saw the blood tainting the inside of his arm. The arm that had recently restrained Ken. His eyes darted to the boy's chest and the source was painfully evident: a fine, deep gash from shoulder to hip bone that would have been entirely indiscernible from the vast splotches of liquid red if not for the ripped, blood-soaked tee-shirt framing it.

"My God Ken, what happened to you?" Aya asked momentarily stunned.

"It's nothing Aya, just a little scratch," Ken replied voice quavering slightly. "I'm fine really."

"No you're not," Aya retorted. He knelt down and opened the door of the cabinet beside the stove, grabbing a dishtowel and thrusting it under the running water_. That wound needs to be cleaned. God knows how long it's been exposed. He'll have a scar for sure and be lucky if it isn't infected._

"No really Aya," Ken began, attempting to walk over to him.

"Take your shirt off," Aya commanded.

"No. Really, just go up to bed. Give me the towel, I'll be fine," Ken continued. He extended a hand.

"Ken take your shirt off now so I can clean that cut off. It could get infected you know."

"Yes yes, but if you'd just give me the towel and leave me alone I'll take care of all that."

Aya closed the gap between the pair, inadvertently pinning Ken against the island, and, grabbing hold of its cotton edges, attempted to remove his shredded tee-shirt.

Ken fought. "Aya stop it! Leave me alone! I'm fine dammit! I can . . . can . . . take care . . . of . . ." His voiced weakened and trailed off as his muscles gave out and he fell limply forward into Aya's arms.

Aya wanted to panic but knew panicking would only make matters worse. So mentally battling to maintain composure he lowered the at least still semiconscious Ken to the floor and propped his back up against the island. Then, deciding that it would be much easier to clean and dress the wound if he could see properly, Aya stood and flicked turned on the lights.

Returning to Ken, he almost tripped over his jacket which lay discarded on the tiles, lining exposed. It was drenched.

_How much blood has he lost?_ Aya wondered frantically. He rushed back to Ken's side and, after helping him out of his shredded tee-shirt, shifted the boy onto his back and immediately began applying pressure to the open cut. "Ken, what happened to you?" he asked with obvious concern. Really he just hoped the injured assassin would reply at all, thus confirming that he was still aware of activity around him.

"It's . . . no big deal. I got attacked. That's . . . all . . ." Ken replied rather distantly, seemingly trying to fix his eyes on Aya.

_What the hell am I thinking? He shouldn't be expending energy talking_! Aya scolded mentally. "It's all right, don't try to talk. Just relax, you're going to be fine."

"I know . . . yes . . . fine. I'll be okay . . . Just go . . . I can take care . . . of myself," Ken managed, with great difficulty.

_Is he crazy? He barely talk, let alone stand up to get bandages to dress his wound!_ "Were you planning on just not telling anyone about this and letting yourself bleed to death?" Aya near demanded.

"No," Ken protested. "No. It's not like . . . that. I really . . . can . . . handle this."

"Shh. Don't talk," Aya commanded, tone softening_. I shouldn't have yelled at him. But honestly what was he thinking?_ He removed the towel and looked over the wound beneath it. The cut really wasn't as bad as he'd feared, though it wasn't simply a little scratch as Ken had claimed. It seemed that the bleeding had mostly subsided. He took a clean cloth from the cabinet and turned the faucet on again. While holding the towel beneath the running water, he grabbed the bottle of disinfecting soap from beside the sink and squeezed some of its contents onto the impromptu washcloth. Satisfied, he turned the water off and wrung the towel once so that it was not dripping wet and returned to Ken to finish cleaning his wound.

"Ouch!" Ken cried as Aya applied the soapy towel. "Ow, ow, stop it! That hurts!"

"Ken stop being immature. I have to clean your cut or it will get infected," Aya declared, easily continuing his tending despite Ken's efforts to avoid his touch.

They were silent for a moment. Ken stayed still and Aya finished cleaning his cut. The redhead sat back on his heals.

"There," he said, "it's clean now. Just stay here and rest. I need to go upstairs and get some bandages." He proceeded to the freezer, opened it and took out an ice pack which he handed to Ken. "Put this on your hand until I get back." He then turned to go.

"Why Aya?"

Aya stopped and looked back, confused.

"Why did you have to show up? Why did you have to take care of me?" Ken asked. He managed to sit upright, back against the island.

"What do you mean? Did you expect me to just leave you alone when I found you in here near unconscious from blood loss?"

"No. That's not what I said," Ken asserted albeit to much less effect than he had likely intended. He shifted a bit and Aya feared he may try to stand.

"Lie still," Aya commanded. _He's lost so much blood, he doesn't have the strength to stand. But he needs to start replenishing it or he'll faint_. He opened the refrigerator and, briefly scanning its contents, discovered several ten ounce bottles of orange juice and grabbed one. Kneeling down, he twisted free the plastic cap. "Here, drink this." He thrust his arm out offering the juice to Ken. "I'll get you something to eat too. It'll help you regain some strength." He went to the dry-food cupboard in search of something.

_Something sweet. His blood sugar could be low which would contribute to his faintness. And with raisins would be good. Lots of iron_. But much as he tried to concentrate and act calmly, his heart still pounded and mind reminded him pressingly that Ken's wounds still needed binding. Hastily he grabbed a just-opened package of cookies he couldn't be bothered to determine type of, half threw them at Ken charged up the stairs to the closest bathroom to retrieve a first-aid kit.

_God I hope I'm doing the right thing. Maybe he needs stitches. Maybe I should've just tried to stop the bleeding and taken him to the hospital. Maybe I should've contacted Kritiker right away, they must have plenty of doctors on standby_.

Now rapidly meeting all qualifications for a mental status of panic, Aya barely managed to grip the handle of the briefcase style first-aid kit for nervous trembling. Having successfully obtained the desired item, he near literally flew down the stairs almost slipping as he did so. So much for the collected leader. Upon reaching the kitchen, he again dropped to his knees beside Ken who was taking halfhearted swigs from the open bottle of orange juice.

"Okay," Aya said, half to himself. _I know what I'm doing. I can handle this._ "Bandages, bandages, something." He released the latch on the plastic case and easily found what he was looking for. He took the role of white cloth and promptly, though cautiously, set to wrapping it about Ken's injured torso.

_It should be enough for now. He should go to the doctor anyway, just in case._

"How are feeling Ken?" he asked. The brunette's body felt heavy and Aya thought he may have fainted.

"Not awful."

_Good. He's still conscious_. "Good. Once I've finished with your bandages I'll take you to go lie down until I can contact Kritiker and get you a doctor."

"Aya I really don't think-"

"Ken, it's just a precaution," Aya interjected, though not harshly. "I think you'll be okay." Closer to his usual state of composure, the redhead now sincerely meant what he said. After all, Ken was still awake and protesting.

When he'd finished with the bindings, Aya did as he had promised and guided his injured friend over to the couch in the small room behind the flower shop. Not the ideal resting location he knew, but the closest and he was not risking the stairs. As it was en route Ken stumbled and wound up in the redhead's arms until he regained enough control over his limbs to complete the trek on legs like a newborn lamb's. He quite literally fell onto the couch and with immense effort, turned over and swung his legs about so he lay comfortably, back propped up against a plush grey arm.

Aya stood beside him utterly still and silent. Missing Ken, missing his body in his arms, missing feeling him tremble softly as he held him. He sat on the edge of the couch and wondered at the cause of the trembling. Just faintness, blood loss probably. _But could it be me? Is he nervous with me?_

Body desperate for contact again, Aya gingerly took Ken's injured hand and lifted it close to his own face as if for examination. "Do you want me to get the ice for your hand?" he asked. "It's still on the floor in the kitchen."

"Uhh...no...I mean, I think I'm okay," Ken replied. He was blushing.

_He's at least getting some color back in his face, that's a good sign_. "Are you sure? It's no big deal."

"Um...sure, I-I guess." Now stammering.

On impulse Aya brought the hand to his lips and kissed it, softly, chastely. Ken did not pull away, and Aya almost felt as though he drew a fraction closer to him. But then he realized what he was doing and had to fight the urge to bolt upright in surprise and perhaps a little embarrassment. He succeeded and slowly raised his head.

"A-Aya," Ken said once their eyes met. His cheeks were thoroughly scarlet. "Um... why...why did...you have to be awake?"

"What?" Aya asked bewildered. The question bore no semblance to any he had expected he might receive.

"I mean, why couldn't you have been asleep, like everyone else? Why couldn't you have just left me to take care of myself?" Ken continued.

"Ken it's a good thing I was awake! I mean I think you might have survived until morning, considering the relatively good shape you're in now, but you likely would have been in critical condition."

"But I wanted to take care of myself!" Ken exclaimed. His voice quavered and he looked like he might cry.

"But Ken you couldn't have! You were in no condition to be doing anything that required any degree of concentration or even miniscule physical exertion. Even now you would have struggled!" Aya remarked, struggling not resort to scolding tones.

Ken was silent for a moment. "I know." He hung his head over defeatedly. "I know. I can't do anything for myself."

"Now that's not tru-"

"And it would have to be you, wouldn't it?" Ken continued, cutting him off. "Of course. I can't do anything without you." He laughed wistfully. "I literally can't live without you."

Aya was speechless. A despairingly likely truth was suddenly apparent to him. _Damn. This is all my fault. I keep him at arms' length to protect myself. So I don't get emotionally attached. Except when my body gets the best of me and I rush to protect him. Or touch him. Kiss him_. "Ken, I-" but he could think of nothing say. More truthfully couldn't think of where or how to begin. _God, how I must have confused him!_

"Aya," Ken said weakly, looking up at him again, "why did you come back? I know, you're sister, she's gone and you need to find her. But you left again and then came back when Botan died. You could have found her on you own, I know you could have."

"Maybe," Aya agreed. "And yes, she is why I came back. Or at least why I thought I came back originally." _Botan...thank God for you_. "But Botan set me straight. Of course I still want to find her. I need to find her and I do think it's remotely possible I could have found her on my own. She isn't why I came back."

"She isn't?" Ken asked incredulously.

"No. And, thanks to Botan, I know that now." _He was right. I can't go on fighting selfishly as I was before. Especially when I know I care so much. But it will be difficult. I've put up so many walls, and they weren't made to be broken. Unfortunately knowing isn't the same as doing._

"Then...why?"

"I came back for Omi and Yohji because I realized that they need me. And for you." _Especially you. I could hardly stand not knowing how you were. Much as I tried to put you out of my thoughts_. "Because we all need each other. As Weiss we rely on one another and work as one." _And I need you. I can't say it, can hardly admit it to myself, but I know it's true._

"So, you came back because we need you to lead us. Because you want us to be the best assassins we can." Once again, Ken dropped his head.

Aya leaned over and placed a long white finger under the boy's chin, tilting his head upward. "No," he declared. "Because we need each other as people. Because we're all each other has." _Because I think I love you._

And because he was never good at articulating emotions, Aya wrapped his arms around Ken's shoulders, sealed the small space between their faces and kissed him. This time tenderly. This time gently. This time out of love completely untainted by even the tiniest shred of lust.

When Aya broke the kiss he sat back upright and Ken collapsed against him, ear resting against the taller boy's chest. He clung to him. "Oh Aya I was so afraid I was never going to see you again," he breathed and Aya thought he sounded close to tears. "I thought you'd never come back."

"I couldn't do that," Aya assured drawing him closer. "I was stupid for ever leaving again. I was stupid for making us disband in the first place."

"No, no we all agreed to that. That wasn't your fault."

_But so many other things were. I guess I was too stubborn to realize the effect I had on the people around me. Especially him_.

"It doesn't matter now anyway. You're here. We're all together again," Ken continued.

_And you and I. We're together_. "Yes," Aya agreed. "Everything is going to work out." _Somehow. I hope._

He held Ken tightly and kissed the top of his head. No need to trouble him with his own apprehensions. It must have been at least four a.m. already. Only three hours until shop opening. _He'll be okay until then at least. May as well let him sleep now_. He shifted their positions so that he lay back on the couch and Ken lay, head resting beneath his chin, in his arms.

_Ken please forgive me for all the torture I've put you through. I can't guarantee there won't be any more. If I could then I could tell you all this. But I'll try. I'll try to let my emotions show and prove I that I do sincerely care. For Omi, for Yohji, and most of all you. Because much as you may think you can't live without me, I _know_ that I cannot live physically or emotionally without you._

They fell asleep together. And, for that brief moment in time, there was unity and there was understanding and there was peace. And most of all happiness, in the present and on the horizon. At least until morning.


End file.
